


A Bank Teller’s Fantasy

by SakkaWordsmith



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakkaWordsmith/pseuds/SakkaWordsmith
Summary: Amidst the monotonous shifts and duties of his job in a small bank in a peaceful corner of a bustling city, the bank teller George Wolfe spends his spare time fantasising about becoming a swashbuckling thief, and aspires to see his outlandish daydreams coming to be reality.And then, the phantoms of his wishes start pulling him away from the peaceful life which he deems boring, deeper and deeper into the abyss. He tries to reach out for an anchor, but feels everything he holds dear slowly drifting away from his hands, until, one day... he is no longer himself.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Mine Fujiko, Arsène Lupin III/Rebecca Rossellini
Kudos: 1





	A Bank Teller’s Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tulip_Blossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulip_Blossom/gifts), [NinjaSalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSalad/gifts).



> The concept, plot and character ideas all belong to Tulip_Blossom.

It is a nice late Friday afternoon in the beginning of autumn, the sun is about to fall beyond the roofs of buildings and the sky is leaning towards a reddened shade. A sophisticatedly-dressed young woman steps into the lobby of the bank she always frequents after another day of work. It is just a modest bank, but its trustworthiness is unrivalled all around. A desk is always vacant for her, attended by a bank teller who is constantly said to be away with the fairies whenever she comes. Outside from those occasions, he is one of the most diligent workers in this bank, if not the most diligent one, and also the nicest man anyone can imagine him to be.

\- Exchange and deposit as usual, Miss Milner? - The bank teller greets her with his usual flustered smile and reaches out to receive a cheque.

\- Yes, please. - She smiles to him back out of courtesy, to which he appears to blush violently.

She is a local celebrity, a model famed for her perfect, divine allure that could well likely blind a person with if one is brave enough to look at her straight on. Everyone in thistown knows her, Frances Milner is her name, and everyone adores her. This bank teller isn’t any exception, but unlike with other run-of-the-mill admirers, she more or less does reciprocate his admiration for her; however, it is simply because he is just pitifully meek and pleasantly amicable.

The bank teller is frozen in his place for a brief minute, the cheque held still in his hand, seemingly enchanted by her. When he finally snaps back to reality, Miss Milner is still patiently waiting with a polite smile. He tries and fumbles to do his routine job quickly, then after a few minutes he hands her the receipt.

\- Thank you very much. You are a nice man, Mr Wolfe. Please have a pleasant evening. - Miss Milner tucks the receipt into her purse and routinely flashes him a courteous smile before leaving the lobby and returning to her abode.

The bank teller still follows her silhouette vanishing into the crowd of passers-by going to and fro in front of the bank for a good while after. The accountants passing by the lobby notice his enchanted expression, and they just guess that Frances Milner must have visited shortly before this to deposit her payday cheque. All in an usual day, even his co-workers pity for him, the poor bank teller who unfortunately was charmed by the most beautiful woman around, knowing full well she— being a treasured celebrity— is unreachable.

All of a sudden someone’s hand touches him from behind, waking him from his trance.

\- Are you daydreaming again, George? - A familiar voice asks teasingly.

\- Ma— Manager Rousseau?!

He reflexively turns around to face the mischievous expression of the most senior person in the administration of this bank, the regional manager. Normally an shrewd and dedicated businesswoman who handles the bank’s everyday functions efficiently and treats all subordinates rather indifferently, yet interestingly she only shows her mischievous and playful side almost unseen of her to one person: a lowly bank teller called George Wolfe, better known as the one who’s away with the fairies whenever Venus comes to deposit her cheque.

\- No... not at all, Manager... - George sheepishly replies.

\- Oh? 

A finger on her chin, the manager teasingly smiles back as usual. She knows he is frequently daydreaming, but always turns a blind eye to it because he is otherwise the most diligent person she ever had in this bank. At least, that is what she would say if someone asked. Probably she is also pitying him, like many of his co-workers and other acquaintances.

\- Say, are you free to have dinner with us tonight, George? We will go to that French restaurant just down the streets with my investor acquaintances. Will you come? My treat.

As the bank is about to close down for the day, the manager suggests he joining her for a nice dinner. George has never accepted her offer; he either says that he didn’t want the superiors to suspect her of favouritism, inviting just a lowly bank teller to dinner with investors, or he excuses that he already had promised for a dinner with his close friends. Tonight, he uses the latter.

\- Sorry, Manager, but... I... already had an appointment with some friends.

The manager knows well he would always decline whenever she offered, but still, she feels fairly disappointed hearing each and every refusal he gives her, despite how much she tries.

\- Is that so? - Manager Rousseau lets out a discreet sigh, her eyes briefly darting aside.

The grand clock in the lobby chimes its usual tune, signifying a work day has concluded. George glances down his wristwatch to check the time, and sheepishly excuses himself to leave. For some reasons, the George after the shift ends seems to be filled with more vigour than the George before that; he could be unhappy with his work, but as far as the manager knows, he never once complains. Or is he eager to see his friends again? She reckons it was the latter.

George the bank teller hurriedly wraps up his desk for the day and skips to the backdoors with a spontaneous child-like glee, his briefcase carried above his head. 

\- Oh, it’s Friday. Off to the pub with the chums again, George Wolfe?

The chief security officer waves him a goodbye as per the routine when George passes by his booth on the latter’s way out, to which the bank teller just nods before vanishing beyond the steel doors.

In the refreshing twilight of autumn, George strolls leisurely through the cobblestone-paved streets, following his own footsteps every Friday to the modest pub just around the corner of the flat where he lives. As soon as he steps through its door, the pub’s owner joyfully shouts out a greeting from behind the bar, and an acquaintance has already been waiting for him by the usual seat at the counter.

\- How many pints you already had before I came?

\- Just an empty one, waiting for y’all late, late lads.

George sits down in his favourite seat, which the owner has put up a “reserved” sign for him, and points to the empty glass in front of his friend. He darts his eyes briefly around the pub to confirm if the other friend of his has arrived yet; even in Friday night, this pub still seems a little sparse in guests.

\- It’s not my fault, though. Manager Rousseau tried to convince me to join her for dinner again, in a fancy French restaurant near the bank. Of course I declined, again.

\- _Dude_ , why’d you decline her?! Ain’t a fancy restaurant better than a pub? - The other man briefly turns aside to the owner, who is squarely within earshot, a little too close, maybe - Sorry, sir, no offense, but this guy needs to learn how to try things out and enjoy life once in a while.

\- You don’t know who Manager Rousseau really is, she isn’t just your average regional manager of a bank, and the bank she manages— the one I’m working for— isn’t just any humble money box. - George taps on the counter for his friend’s attention, attempting to defend his decision - It’s _Rebecca Rousseau_ , daughter of this bank’s Chairman! She is a royalty in this country’s banking industry. Imagine an important person like her being seen with a lowly bank teller like _me_ in a fancy restaurant! Also, Friday night is buddy night, I have no excuse to bail out on this.

Right after George finishes his sentence, the pub’s bell rings and another guest steps in. The two men immediately recognise him to be the last one missing in their Friday band of three, and merrily wave greetings as soon as he shows up.

\- Finally, the teacher’s here. How’s your day, lad? Ain’t the kids too much of a handful? - The pub owner glances up from the bar to the rather weary guest, one of the three regulars of this place.

The newcomer just nods tiredly, trying to smooth down his dishevelled hair from a hectic day of work and looks for his usual seat to sit. Finally the three friends reunite again on a Friday night, after a busy week with many things to worry about. Just one night per week, they care not of what is their job and the headaches coming with it. Just one night, they sit down together over beer, chatting their old problems away and, sometimes, proposing new, amusing ones.

George Wolfe is a miserable loner in this world, but he is also fortunate to have two companions to fall back when he needs. The one who arrived to the pub first is an American Marine called Joseph Dachenhausen, a gruff yet also sincere man; outside of work days, he isn’t a very clean-shaven man, often seen with a rather unkempt beard on holidays leaves.  And their friend who arrived last is a Japanese expatriate who works as teacher to the only martial arts school in town, and whose name happens to coincide with an infamous outlaw of yore, Ishikawa Goemon. Probably his parents thought it was amusing, but he believed otherwise; he always treats his given name like a nuisance due to what it was associated to, yet he seems to trust his friends enough to let them refer to him by the name he dislikes much. And George, albeit he is a meek and quiet bloke most of the days, he can be rather talkative around his mates and oftentimes too imaginative when tipsy. Of course, today is one of the occasions in which he can get a little tipsy and unleash his imagination.

Although he doesn’t look much like it, George is fond of crime fiction, and is known to keep a journal to jot down his drunken ideas, hoping he can write a book himself somedays. He often imagines himself as a swashbuckling thief like the one in the novels he loves to read, and his friends— Joseph and Goemon— are his partners-in-crime; together, they perform impossible heists and embark on adventurous endeavours for treasures lost in time. His stories are mostly outlandish, but his mates and the pub owner just let him propose the wild ideas; they are for the most part also enjoying to hear the capers his fictional band of thieves can do.

\- Oh, and after the three of us have successfully infiltrated in the museum as janitors, Joseph will rig the pipeline in the toilet while Goemon go to disable one of the patrolling guards. I will disguise myself as the guard we captured, then follow the others to the surveillance room. And then... let’s see...

George appears to already be tipsy at three-quarters of the first pint or so, and starts beginning his thieving stories as usual. While most of the capers he proposes are as clichéd as a James Bond film, his audience never seems to grow tired of the heisting sequences. In his curious mind there is always something new to make a story up. And as usual, roughly halfway through the caper and at his second or third pint— depending on the day— George begins to groggily drop down onto the counter, signalling to the others that they should bring him home for the night.

\- I keep telling him his tolerance is low as hell, but did he listen? _No_! - Joseph sighs, chugging the last of his beer and puts his glass bottom-up back on the bar - Now we have to haul this dude back in his apartment again.

\- I can deliver his briefcase to his home first.

Goemon is the first to stand up. He neatly lays some pre-counted banknotes on the bar and puts his glass on top to signify to the owner that he’s finished and paid his share, as he often does, then picks up George’s briefcase and house keys as well as his own satchel and sword before departing. Joseph mildly frowns because Goemon always volunteers to handle the luggages, leaving him the only person who has to carry their knocked-out friend home. And since George lives in the upper floors of his complex and he isn’t exactly much lighter then the Marine himself, helping him to go up the flights of stairs is a trickier endeavour than it probably sounds.

After a good while finding George’s wallet and his own to pay for the beer, Joseph spends a better while laboriously walking his drunken friend up the stairs to the latter’s flat. Thankfully, Goemon rushes down halfway through the hellish march to lends him a hand.

\- Here’s an original joke: How many people does it need to help carrying a black-out drunk bank teller back home?

\- One. 

\- Nah, you just scoot away first all the time, you don’t know him. This dude’s just so darn _heavy_ in his bank teller suit.

At long last, the three of them manage to rest in the warm and peaceful atmosphere of George’s flat. The bank teller was ungracefully flopped onto his bed, his briefcase under his head, while his friends either returning home because they have a class coming up in the weekends, or catching some (or buckets) of Zs on the couch for it seems too late an hour now to leave, and tomorrow happens to also be an off-day for both Joseph and George. This isn’t anything unprecedented. There had been plenty of times when George’s mates have to spend the night at his, especially if some major holidays fall into weekends and they had a larger Friday feast than normal. Should they be frank, Joseph and Goemon probably would admit they would rather stay at George’s than their own abodes, for either the military barracks or a shabby shared house isn’t exactly more comfortable and homely than an affordable flat but in a nicer part of the town. As soon as his drunken friend has settled, Joseph grabs the blanket George reserves for his mates for stay-over nights, immediately falls down to rest his back on the most comfy couch in the house and quickly drifts into his tipsy slumber, unaware of even skyfall till the next late morning.

Aside from once or twice waking up and bumping into George in the hallway because one’s emergency relieving-self alarm sounds and one’s nauseating wave strikes. Neither is comfortable when both are groggy and dead sleepy.

**Author's Note:**

> Since the characterisations of characters in this piece may or may not be similar to how they were in the original ‘verse, please pay attention to the characters’ name and initials to know who is based on who.


End file.
